DISCLAIMER: Crying beans! I don't own any of the characters from Newsies!
Seriously, now. Is this necessary? Obviously I don't! In any case, they
belong to that place called Disney that likes to ruin movies by making
sequels for them. : ) Anywho, the 52 other characters in this story are
MINE! And yes, I said 52. And then, Dimples owns herself. ^_^
A.N: Thanks to all who have reviewed! And for those who are concerned, I DO intend on finishing "Just A Little Bet" and starting a sequel to "Confessions". Just not at the moment. ^_^ Anywho, this is a fairly LONG chapter. Have a nice read, and thanks again to: Gothic Author, Seraph, Hotshot, Dimples, Rachel, Spatz, and Lovable!!!
*~*~*~*~THE BROOKLYN BOYS~*~*~*~*
52 Newsies, 1 Lodging House, Countless Stories
It would be the winter of 1898 when a new aspect of my high position would be served upon my plate. It's bothersome to be getting ahead of myself like this, but my network of spies deserve quite the lengthy entry, for my moments with them were indeed among the ones that most tried my patience, and so I won't spend too much time unearthing the vast details of my social ascent.
It's a common misconception for one to believe that a newsboy's transition into leadership is executed smoothly. On the contrary, days tend to be hard ones and nights full of staying up late, wondering upon one's charges. For a while, I suffered from what has come to be called B.L.A (Borough Leadership Angst).
My uneasiness set by Italics having suddenly left me alone for a higher- paying job as a factory worker, I was anxious about my own future. How would the Brooklyn crew take to me? Would they submit to my orders, or would they rise up against me? I grew so worried that I could hardly sleep, afraid that one of the boys would turn on me in the silence of the night. I avoided them as best I could. It wasn't my wish to rub it in anyone's face that Italics had chosen me as his successor, and I certainly didn't want to rouse any further hatred.
The weeks couldn't have rolled by any more slowly. I sold alone, ate alone, walked across Brooklyn alone.........it was as if I were back to being a homeless ruffian the weeks following my departure from Morningside Heights. And I hated the fact that every night was poker night in Brooklyn for it only left me to recline into a moth-eaten chair and watch heated matches from afar while everyone else was dealt in and having a good time.
There are two things to which I convey gratitude for the destruction of my emotional decline. One was a character development-which I will explain another time-and the other was the arrival of my first new kid, who ironically turned out to be my very own cousin, Lucas Conlon. Being the only one who had known about my desire to run away, Lucas had learned of my rise into power from speaking with his lower-class friends during recreation, and was beyond surprised upon seeing that I had made it well off after all. Jealous of my now free-born life and ever-growing fame, he had followed in my footsteps and now stood before me, wishing to be made a part of the Brooklyn company.
I couldn't help but smirk. It was no secret my popularity was steadily growing across the state even if my own newsies failed to acknowledge me. Fights were ever common on the brutal streets of New York and I always was drawn to one like a wolf to blood. Knowing this, I would not subject my cousin to the destitute life I was blindly enjoying when he still had valuable years of schooling left in which to make something of himself. We debated over the matter for what could have been hours, and in the end it was unfortunately decided that Lucas would stay with me; he was dubbed a Brooklyn newsie that same day.
He would return home on several occasions, only to keep running back to his refuge in Brooklyn each time-thus earning the alias 'Runner'. It was from this that I derived the saying, "Once a Brooky, always a Brooky".
When the others saw how I socialized with Runner, they slowly began warming up to me as well. No longer was I some supernatural force to be reckoned with. For once, I was considered a 'human' and Runner was the bridge that let me cross over and embrace that mortality. I got to know each of the boys better, learning to identify them by their personalities and special quirks, and being a good listener when all they needed was to talk. Finally I had been accepted into their social circle, but they still gave me the space I needed to be their leader.
Unbeknownst to me, this 'space' would incorporate various components of leadership I hadn't been trained to deal with. It was an ordinary December night in Brooklyn; the streets were lively with busy last-minute shoppers and my boys were celebrating the season on the docks under the dim lighting of nearby lanterns. Brooky's can really take you by storm sometimes. We shroud ourselves with ice-cold, apathetic demeanors and yet can still find the joy of a child within us during Christmas.
In any case, the ecstasy of the night was shattered when Maverick and Renegade shoved a small boy called Fidget to my feet, angrily proclaiming that he was a traitor among us who had been feeding us lies for weeks. I wasn't certain what the situation called me to do, so I allowed Fidget to speak in his own defense. The boy was trembling with fear as he reiterated the charges my boys had accused him of and then verified with a heavy heart that they were, in fact, true!
For a moment, I couldn't find the words to speak; so great was my shock. The punishment for betrayal was death but still young, I hadn't yet the passion for such cruelty. Instead, I decided to send Fidget back to his original borough with a warning that next time, I would not be so merciful.
It was becoming painstakingly clear that my borough's safety would have to lie in the hands of a trusted group of Brooklynites when yet another spy, this one from Harlem, was unmasked in my presence mere days later. I set to work immediately. After studying my newsies with the eyes of a recruiter, I chose eight boys between the ages of 12 and 14 who would serve Brooklyn as messengers and scouts. They were small enough to fit into tight spaces and full of enough youthful vigor to dash away at incredible speeds if need be. Of course, the position was theirs for as long as they expected to be newsies for it would grow on them as I predicted it would, experience setting upon them like a second skin.
I gathered them all in a secluded meeting room of the lodging house the day before New Year's Eve where they quietly sat as I drew up sketches of the state's major boroughs from memory, complete with underground paths in selected areas and highlights of those boroughs with which Brooklyn was allied. With a final jot down of the ideas possessing me and an inclusion of the traits I wanted my spies to have, my drafting was complete when I scribbled two last words at the top of the rough drawing. 'The Nest'.
All but Runner received new names. They were: Jay, Raven, Hawk, Robin, Cardinal, Oriole, and Sparrow. Like the silent watchers that stalk mankind behind veils of shrubbery and leaves, these eight boys would be Brooklyn's Birds, their ears ever tuned in to others' conversations and their vision as sharp as a hunter's. Of course, they would have to be trained, and as the old saying goes, 'if you want something done right, you have to do it yourself.'
My hardest times proved to occur whenever I was working with mischievous Runner and his impish ways, the analytical nature of Oriole and his incessant questions, and bitter Raven with his complaints about the immaturity of the former two. Actually, come to think of it, every single one of them had a shortcoming that drove me mad! And that is why training would begin as soon as possible.
We stood atop the roof of a newly-built edifice downtown, gazing out towards the horizon where we could see the smokestacks of various factories discharge clouds of pollution and smog into the air. I regarded the boys much like a schoolmaster might, my figure rigid and arms crossed behind my back. Seeing them lined up as so that first time reminded me of a ragtag assembly of miscreants and thieves, none of which were experienced in anything but looking out for their own selves. I would have to unite them in an unlikely brotherhood before any other priorities could be taken.
So applying fancy words I had learned in my literature classes and stringing each utterance with a thread of theatrical exaggeration, I played at their anger for society wrongs and their hatred of scabs who double- crossed their own. It worked like magic, and once I had fired up a passion for loyalty in their hearts, the games were ready to begin.
"Rule #1," I started, "Never let da enemy see youse, even if ya cover is blown."
Oriole's eyes conveyed utter confusion. If his head weren't adorned with the velvety curls that were his hair, he wouldn't have appeared so childish. "Wha...?"
"Dat means," I replied in my best critical tone, "dat if youse is caught by da enemy, it's ya job tah make 'em think they's seein' things. Catch me meanin'?" He looked even more confused but it was too early in the day for chastising. "It means cheese it 'fore youse put in a position that'll test ya allegiance tah me!" I suppose it might have come out more harshly than originally intended, but that was the least of my concerns.
Runner snickered, wearing that roguish grin of his, emerald green eyes glimmering. "What if we'se get captured, though, and is threatened tah be killed if we'se don't spill 'bout who we soive?"
I gave him a look that clearly said I wouldn't hesitate to fulfill any death wishes he had and he was damn near to cowering away, but when he saw the curiosity in the others spark at his query, I knew I'd have to indulge him with an answer.
"Then ya don't spill a single woid, ya hear me? I'se don't care if da bastards is holdin' a knife tah ya throat! Youse even think of betrayin' me and I'll make whatever punishment they threatened youse wid ten time woise heah in Brooklyn!"
Once again, Oriole's eyes made attempts at registering the statement; in the end, his inquisitiveness won out. "Ya mean you'd kill us?"
"It's very likely," I answered him, with a cool urbanity that rendered them all speechless. I turned my back to them and gazed at the city below me, the crowds looking like miniature figurines in a girl's dollhouse. At least they were acting sensible now. I couldn't stand people who made jokes of grave issues, dismissing them as if they were nothing at all. "Tomorrow we'se startin' da day at 5 in da mornin'. Sharp." I smirked when the sweet music of their resentful groans reached my ears.
The sun was just beginning to rise for another vigil as I led my Birds to Manhattan where we would jog down the trails of Central Park. There was good terrain there, and various elevations that would work the boys hard, fortifying their stamina. Sparrow impressed me the most during the sprint. Watching him was like watching a circus freak at Coney Island being shot from a cannon, the kid soared that fast! It was while wondering upon what he could have possibly consumed for breakfast when a distressful yell wrenched me from my thoughts.
I spun around to see Robin sprawled out on the cold cement, his hands tightly clutching his left ankle. His face was flushed and I could tell he was fighting back tears of obvious pain. With a sigh, I hurried back to him and crouched down at his side to see about the problem, but he insisted that he would be fine.
"I'm just e' bit clumsy," he told me in the rough Irish brogue I could hardly understand. "Ye dun have te' worry 'bout me. I'll catch up wid ye." He tried to struggle to his feet but only managed in collapsing onto himself a second time. My brilliant schedule now completely reduced to ruins, I cancelled the morning jog and announced that training would be postponed until a later time.
While Robin's foot was still healing, he'd sit on the sidelines for the weeks of teaching that ensued. Back at the rooftop where we had begun, I next taught my eight spies the fine art of self-defense. Jay was definitely the best fighter. He moved with a grace I truly admired and had the strength to hold his own against numerous attackers should he one day become cornered in enemy territory. Then there were some boys who just put Brooklyn to shame.
Oriole was up against Jay one round and could have relieved himself in his pants as terrified as he was. Every time Jay would step forward to enact a move I had demonstrated, he would scurry back a yard or so and widen his eyes like a startled animal. This juvenile game of 'chase' carried on for a few minutes until I grew irritated and put an end to it. "Oriole," I said, "what da hell d'ya think youse is doin'? Ya can't fight someone standin' six feet away from them!"
Oriole looked up at me with those chocolate irises that would have made any other sensitive fool crack and replied, "But I aint a fighter, Spot. I'se don't like tah hoit people. It aint a nice thing tah do."
Could there be another Brooky schmaltzier than that? The kid sounded like a sappy, over-romantic poet trying to sing his way out of war! I would have dealt him a dose of reality right then, but at that moment, Cardinal decided to finally grace us with his presence. "Cards, youse is late."
"Yea I know," was his reply. "I guess I'se just lost track 'a time."
"Well, that's the thoid time dis happened! Normally, I'se would beat the crap outta ya and see whether youse can keep time then, but since I'se not feelin' like shit today, Jay'll just do it for me." I often did that, set the Birds against each other as such. I'm not quite sure why, but it had something to do with believing that warriors are born only in the midst of conflict. Before I could see the boys reach their potential, I would have to give them mountains to overcome.
Many nights during this period, I would set off for the streets of Brooklyn by myself and sort matters out in my head. Long walks tended to ease my nerves, for one doesn't have to deal with the pestering of company, and best of all, it was an escape from my leadership duties. It was like a breath of fresh air...absorbing the fragrance of a newly sprung rose. It was relief, and if I didn't take advantage of the liberation it offered me, the rage I had too long been bottling up would explode in a wrath.
I didn't know how much longer I could deal with my eight spies. Some days I felt like ripping my hair out in large chunks; other times I wanted to scream obscenities to the highest obtainable pitch. They acted so difficult! Hawk and Raven, the eldest, vowed to talk my ears off with their whining about how I chose to orchestrate my lessons. 'Maybe you should teach the kids to shut their traps'. That was a common one. 'Are you going to let your cousin get away with that?' 'Oriole should be wearing diapers the way you baby him!' 'Why the hell do we need to know how to pickpocket?'
You're probably wondering why I considered that last one a necessity too. No, it wasn't to encourage thieving or acceptance of loose morals, but rather to add a skill to the repertoire they would later draw from when assigned a borough. If any one of them were given a mission to acquire information about a particular leader, I could only hope to God they knew how to go about obtaining it in a secretive manner. And what if this leader was a clever one and stashed his written details in a safe, or in his very pocket! You see, I'm only equipping the boys for what inevitably could happen on the job.
But they couldn't see that! They couldn't see that our morning jogs were meant to help them become faster. They never caught on with the fact that being experienced in combating would make all the difference when a band of jerks realized their true identity and wanted to endorse justice with their bare hands. Cardinal would never see the importance of punctuality, Oriole would never learn to seal his lips, Runner would never abandon his carefree ways, Robin would never part with his clumsiness, and Hawk and Raven would never cease to nag even when they were told that no one cared about their opinion!
That leaves Jay and Sparrow. I don't even have to think twice to tell you they were my best spies since the start. Jay's piercing blue eyes soaked up everything they saw, and Sparrow had this devious style of sneaking around that could fool anyone. The others paled in comparison to this dynamic duo, and no greater instance can exemplify what I mean than the following.
I was leaning my back against the brick face of a Seamstress shop and pretended to skim through the articles of the paper I held in my hands while Runner and Jay stood at either side of me like watchdogs. Little did they know, I was about to put them to the test. After a reasonable number of people had passed by us, I folded the paper, stuffed it in a back pocket, and turned to Jay.
"Jay, did ya notice dat man in da derby hat? Tell me exactly what he looked like."
Without a moment's hesitation, the facts spewed from his mouth in seconds. "Da derby hat was grey and 'e was wearin' a three piece suit wid a handkerchief in da chest pocket that had da initials 'T.W.' on it. The briefcase 'e was carryin' wasn't snapped shut and 'is shoes was made of leather. Eyes were brown, hair was black, and 'e had a split 'tween 'is front teeth."
If I wasn't his leader, I would have loved to express how shocked I was by his detailed memory. I hadn't expected any of the boys to regurgitate information as well as he had! I nodded my head in approval and then faced my cousin. "Runnah, da Italian dat came outta Riley's Pub a few minutes ago, tell me what ya can 'bout him."
"Uh..." Runner combed his fingers through his blonde hair and cocked his head to one side. "Well, he was wearin' some clothes...and, uh, he had some hair and all." His lips curved into a playful smirk. "And I'se give da guy credit, did ya see da goil 'e had on his arm! Damn! I'se could tell ya anything ya wanted tah know 'bout her!"
I glared at him, controlling my want to destroy him. Of course, just as the day was starting to shine with Jay's sharp report, Runner had to summon the rain clouds forth. What really boiled my blood, though, was how he thought it all funny! He was laughing then, but later when I humiliated him in front of all the Brooklyn newsies by giving him a good soaking, all smugness was gone.
And I mustn't forget the incident at Central Park. I wanted to assess any improvements Robin or Oriole might have made in the span of their training and so I took them to Manhattan where we observed a middle-aged couple sitting on a bench, chatting away the late hours of the afternoon. I instructed the boys that I wanted a word-for-word summary of the conversation being held and then sent them out one by one to achieve the task.
Robin first crossed the street that separated us from the couple and then strolled down the sidewalk, whistling a tune with his hands in his pockets. Yet to even begin the assignment and he had already disappointed me. Does it ever cross a suspect's mind before a mystery is unraveled that whistling in distraction might perhaps make them appear that much guiltier? It frustrates me to no end!
Anyways, Robin tried the facade of an innocent passerby but his cover was blown when the kid tripped over the feet of the couple he was suppose to be spying on! He toppled to the ground and once righted, smiled bashfully at them, only receiving a perturbed look on their part in return. I sent Oriole in next once Robin had retreated. He trotted off in that cheerful air of his, and walked directly up to the couple where he sat on the bench beside the woman and then stared at the two naively.
"Don't mind me," he later claimed to have said. "Just go on and act like I'se aint heah." As would any sane person, the man and woman immediately arose and left.
I knew putting the boys out now would only ensure their failure, but surely I couldn't leave Brooklyn unprotected. Talk was starting of how some riffraff had masqueraded as a Manhattan newsie for months before he was discovered as part of Midtown's brood. I wouldn't let the same thing happen to Brooklyn. Ever.
So the next week, I assigned boroughs to each of my eight Birds, some receiving more than one area to supervise if the newsboys there were few or didn't reside in a lodging house. Jay was awarded the Bowery for perfecting his keen senses and I gave Harlem, Brooklyn's greatest rival, to young Sparrow. Though lacking in years, he was superior at his work.
We decided that 'The Nest' would be our bi-weekly meeting spot, its location constantly changing to prevent familiarity and throw off stalkers. And with one last speech filled with advice and warnings, I sent them off for their first scout. Back then, I didn't see the mistake I was creating, but it would soon make itself evident as the hours progressed.
The boys were supposed to report back to me that night at nine o' clock. Jay and Sparrow were early; I decided to give the others until Cardinal's arrival to show up, for I already knew his inability to keep time would make him considerably late.
At 9:45, he still hadn't walked into the lodging house; neither had Hawk. I knew something was wrong and it didn't hit me until I remembered that Upstate New York-where both Cardinal and Hawk had been assigned-had recently issued a curfew that ordered all minors to be in their homes by eight. I slammed my fist into the wall for having not sooner realized this. It reflected my judgment poorly and was the type of blunder that could haunt one for the rest of his days.
"Fellas," I addressed the six Birds that remained, "we'se gunna have tah bust our boiys out da slammer tonight." Raven made a bitter remark about how Cardinal's disregard for promptness had probably birthed the problem, but after receiving a nice shiner from yours truly, he shut his damn mouth quick.
The operation would be a tricky one and the risk of being arrested ourselves for breaking curfew in that area only added to the jeopardy. But if I could somehow use my boys' limitations to our advantage...
Runner couldn't take anything seriously, but Raven could and often went beyond the required mark. Pairing these two together would unquestionably result in a brawl, and very much needing a diversion, I shoved them to a street corner and told them to wait for my return. I wasn't a block away before I could hear them already disputing with one another, which in turn attracted a quartet of officers away from their beat to see about the problem.
The streets in front the police station momentarily cleared, I posted Jay in a nearby alley and instructed him to sound the alarm should those officers decide to return before we were willing to leave. Then, with Robin, Sparrow, and Oriole in toll, we entered the building before us from the back, where I knew the offices would be vacant while a guard shift was taking place.
In the lobby, about twenty men in navy blue uniforms that sported star-shaped badges lounged about snacking on pastries and drinking black coffee. Before I could head to the secure unit where youth were kept before being sent to the House of Refuge, these officers would have to be taken care of. "Oriole," I whispered to the boy beside me, "remember that one day youse was goin' on 'bout all the jokes you'd learn in school? And I told ya it weren't da time tah be ramblin' on like youse was? Well, dis is a poifect time!"
I pointed at the officers and he, thinking it was all in good jest, nodded his head and strutted forward to join the crew. I peered through the crack in the door as he harmlessly walked up to the nearest man and told him the story of how his aunt had almost been buried alive one time. The officers were taken aback by Oriole's presence and first questioned him like interrogators, but when he had no answers to provide them with, the majority humored him by listening to his bizarre tales while the others filed a 'missing child' report.
Now that they were busy thanks to Oriole's unending gibberish, I took Robin and Sparrow to the area where my Brooky's were being kept. The room was small with a stuffy air that made me crinkle my nose. Only one of its six cells were occupied, that one housing Cardinal and Hawk. At the end of the hall sat two guards playing poker while a third sat on a chair perusing through a nudity magazine. Every now and again, he would come across a page that apparently caught his eye and would fold out the poster to show his buddies who whistled and catcalled in return.
I focused back on Cardinal and Hawk. Naturally, they were given the cell farthest away from the exit, thus increasing the difficulty level of this great escape by another degree, and for the life of me, I couldn't devise another fitting diversion. At least not until I remembered Robin was still in my company. In a low hiss, I told him to go to the janitor's closet across the way and retrieve as many empty buckets as he cold find, and to do all this silently. Of course, to Robin's subconscious, that last order is like deliberately telling him to wake up the whole block if at all possible.
Three minutes later, the clamoring of metal objects banging across the floor sounded and the officers who had been playing poker immediately jumped to their feet and charged out into the main corridor as Sparrow and I took refuge behind a trash can. Robin poked his head out the closet, yelped at the sight of the two men, and took off in an effort to outrun them. The officers followed close behind, but this proved folly, for when Robin fell over himself while rounding a corner, they tripped over his body and were knocked out unconscious by the impact of the tiled floor.
Robin crawled to his feet unharmed, and then climbed out a window onto the fire escape to join up with Jay when I gave him the signal to leave. Sparrow and I returned back to the doorway of the jail and before I could say anything, he sped across the aisle, skidded to a stop halfway down, and waved at the officer with the magazine.
"Heya, copper!" he called out. "I bet ya can't catch me!" I took cover behind a fake plant while Sparrow zoomed off, the officer pursuing him. As soon as they were out of sight, I jumped to a stand and ran into the jail, waving to Cardinal and Hawk as I passed them by. I hurried to the officers' desk, snatched a skeleton key tied to a black cord from the nail upon which it hung, and with shaking hands, unlocked the cell door to set my boys free.
I would always wear that key around my neck afterwards as a reminder of what could be achieved when a group of individuals look past their differences and work together for the better good. I don't know all that happened that fateful night, but somehow we all managed to regroup and flee from the clutches of our foe. Runner, Raven, and Sparrow had managed to outrun their men while Cardinal, Hawk, and I merely escaped the same way I had originally entered the station. Jay and Robin awaited our small company in an adjacent alley, and little Oriole feigned tiredness so that when the officers he had earlier been entertaining left him to peace, he awoke from his would-be sleep and simply walked out the front door.
After this episode, my Birds at last started to take to their work sincerely. They even insisted on an intense one-week training session in which they desired to re-learn the basics and master each skill I had tried to been teaching them all along. In no time, they were completely different young men-their new character the absolute opposite of what they had once been. Brooklyn became renowned for the accuracy of its crafty spies, and the boys themselves became people I could trust my very life to.
Some might define patience as calm endurance during a trying time, or tolerance through which understanding is obtained. I don't dismiss either of these statements as faulty, but to me, patience means so much more. It's holding on even when you're ready to let disappointment get the better of you. It's holding your tongue to repress the criticism and debasing words that would otherwise come out. It's shunning the disbelief of others because you know what you're working for and you won't give up when your goal is almost nigh. My favorite of all, it's kindling the hope that lives within you-sometimes as a meager flame, other times as a raging wildfire- despite negativity, shortcomings, or impending doom because you can already see your prize ahead of you and the finish line is just out of reach.
"Me boids is been choipin' in me ear." I say that phrase more than I ever thought I would. Everyone knows how proud I am of them. Only a few know of the trials I've conquered alongside them. In the end, when I look back on it all, I say without regret that it's all been worth it. I made eight of my best friends, gave Brooklyn the root of its strength, came out a better leader, and learned patience in a whole new context. A lesson I will remember for all time.
~*~*~*~*~
Review Please!!! ^_^ Please leave reviews! More Reviews=Faster Updates! YaaaaY! Next Chapter: The Trouble with Being an 'Older Brother' Figure.
A.N: Thanks to all who have reviewed! And for those who are concerned, I DO intend on finishing "Just A Little Bet" and starting a sequel to "Confessions". Just not at the moment. ^_^ Anywho, this is a fairly LONG chapter. Have a nice read, and thanks again to: Gothic Author, Seraph, Hotshot, Dimples, Rachel, Spatz, and Lovable!!!
*~*~*~*~THE BROOKLYN BOYS~*~*~*~*
52 Newsies, 1 Lodging House, Countless Stories
It would be the winter of 1898 when a new aspect of my high position would be served upon my plate. It's bothersome to be getting ahead of myself like this, but my network of spies deserve quite the lengthy entry, for my moments with them were indeed among the ones that most tried my patience, and so I won't spend too much time unearthing the vast details of my social ascent.
It's a common misconception for one to believe that a newsboy's transition into leadership is executed smoothly. On the contrary, days tend to be hard ones and nights full of staying up late, wondering upon one's charges. For a while, I suffered from what has come to be called B.L.A (Borough Leadership Angst).
My uneasiness set by Italics having suddenly left me alone for a higher- paying job as a factory worker, I was anxious about my own future. How would the Brooklyn crew take to me? Would they submit to my orders, or would they rise up against me? I grew so worried that I could hardly sleep, afraid that one of the boys would turn on me in the silence of the night. I avoided them as best I could. It wasn't my wish to rub it in anyone's face that Italics had chosen me as his successor, and I certainly didn't want to rouse any further hatred.
The weeks couldn't have rolled by any more slowly. I sold alone, ate alone, walked across Brooklyn alone.........it was as if I were back to being a homeless ruffian the weeks following my departure from Morningside Heights. And I hated the fact that every night was poker night in Brooklyn for it only left me to recline into a moth-eaten chair and watch heated matches from afar while everyone else was dealt in and having a good time.
There are two things to which I convey gratitude for the destruction of my emotional decline. One was a character development-which I will explain another time-and the other was the arrival of my first new kid, who ironically turned out to be my very own cousin, Lucas Conlon. Being the only one who had known about my desire to run away, Lucas had learned of my rise into power from speaking with his lower-class friends during recreation, and was beyond surprised upon seeing that I had made it well off after all. Jealous of my now free-born life and ever-growing fame, he had followed in my footsteps and now stood before me, wishing to be made a part of the Brooklyn company.
I couldn't help but smirk. It was no secret my popularity was steadily growing across the state even if my own newsies failed to acknowledge me. Fights were ever common on the brutal streets of New York and I always was drawn to one like a wolf to blood. Knowing this, I would not subject my cousin to the destitute life I was blindly enjoying when he still had valuable years of schooling left in which to make something of himself. We debated over the matter for what could have been hours, and in the end it was unfortunately decided that Lucas would stay with me; he was dubbed a Brooklyn newsie that same day.
He would return home on several occasions, only to keep running back to his refuge in Brooklyn each time-thus earning the alias 'Runner'. It was from this that I derived the saying, "Once a Brooky, always a Brooky".
When the others saw how I socialized with Runner, they slowly began warming up to me as well. No longer was I some supernatural force to be reckoned with. For once, I was considered a 'human' and Runner was the bridge that let me cross over and embrace that mortality. I got to know each of the boys better, learning to identify them by their personalities and special quirks, and being a good listener when all they needed was to talk. Finally I had been accepted into their social circle, but they still gave me the space I needed to be their leader.
Unbeknownst to me, this 'space' would incorporate various components of leadership I hadn't been trained to deal with. It was an ordinary December night in Brooklyn; the streets were lively with busy last-minute shoppers and my boys were celebrating the season on the docks under the dim lighting of nearby lanterns. Brooky's can really take you by storm sometimes. We shroud ourselves with ice-cold, apathetic demeanors and yet can still find the joy of a child within us during Christmas.
In any case, the ecstasy of the night was shattered when Maverick and Renegade shoved a small boy called Fidget to my feet, angrily proclaiming that he was a traitor among us who had been feeding us lies for weeks. I wasn't certain what the situation called me to do, so I allowed Fidget to speak in his own defense. The boy was trembling with fear as he reiterated the charges my boys had accused him of and then verified with a heavy heart that they were, in fact, true!
For a moment, I couldn't find the words to speak; so great was my shock. The punishment for betrayal was death but still young, I hadn't yet the passion for such cruelty. Instead, I decided to send Fidget back to his original borough with a warning that next time, I would not be so merciful.
It was becoming painstakingly clear that my borough's safety would have to lie in the hands of a trusted group of Brooklynites when yet another spy, this one from Harlem, was unmasked in my presence mere days later. I set to work immediately. After studying my newsies with the eyes of a recruiter, I chose eight boys between the ages of 12 and 14 who would serve Brooklyn as messengers and scouts. They were small enough to fit into tight spaces and full of enough youthful vigor to dash away at incredible speeds if need be. Of course, the position was theirs for as long as they expected to be newsies for it would grow on them as I predicted it would, experience setting upon them like a second skin.
I gathered them all in a secluded meeting room of the lodging house the day before New Year's Eve where they quietly sat as I drew up sketches of the state's major boroughs from memory, complete with underground paths in selected areas and highlights of those boroughs with which Brooklyn was allied. With a final jot down of the ideas possessing me and an inclusion of the traits I wanted my spies to have, my drafting was complete when I scribbled two last words at the top of the rough drawing. 'The Nest'.
All but Runner received new names. They were: Jay, Raven, Hawk, Robin, Cardinal, Oriole, and Sparrow. Like the silent watchers that stalk mankind behind veils of shrubbery and leaves, these eight boys would be Brooklyn's Birds, their ears ever tuned in to others' conversations and their vision as sharp as a hunter's. Of course, they would have to be trained, and as the old saying goes, 'if you want something done right, you have to do it yourself.'
My hardest times proved to occur whenever I was working with mischievous Runner and his impish ways, the analytical nature of Oriole and his incessant questions, and bitter Raven with his complaints about the immaturity of the former two. Actually, come to think of it, every single one of them had a shortcoming that drove me mad! And that is why training would begin as soon as possible.
We stood atop the roof of a newly-built edifice downtown, gazing out towards the horizon where we could see the smokestacks of various factories discharge clouds of pollution and smog into the air. I regarded the boys much like a schoolmaster might, my figure rigid and arms crossed behind my back. Seeing them lined up as so that first time reminded me of a ragtag assembly of miscreants and thieves, none of which were experienced in anything but looking out for their own selves. I would have to unite them in an unlikely brotherhood before any other priorities could be taken.
So applying fancy words I had learned in my literature classes and stringing each utterance with a thread of theatrical exaggeration, I played at their anger for society wrongs and their hatred of scabs who double- crossed their own. It worked like magic, and once I had fired up a passion for loyalty in their hearts, the games were ready to begin.
"Rule #1," I started, "Never let da enemy see youse, even if ya cover is blown."
Oriole's eyes conveyed utter confusion. If his head weren't adorned with the velvety curls that were his hair, he wouldn't have appeared so childish. "Wha...?"
"Dat means," I replied in my best critical tone, "dat if youse is caught by da enemy, it's ya job tah make 'em think they's seein' things. Catch me meanin'?" He looked even more confused but it was too early in the day for chastising. "It means cheese it 'fore youse put in a position that'll test ya allegiance tah me!" I suppose it might have come out more harshly than originally intended, but that was the least of my concerns.
Runner snickered, wearing that roguish grin of his, emerald green eyes glimmering. "What if we'se get captured, though, and is threatened tah be killed if we'se don't spill 'bout who we soive?"
I gave him a look that clearly said I wouldn't hesitate to fulfill any death wishes he had and he was damn near to cowering away, but when he saw the curiosity in the others spark at his query, I knew I'd have to indulge him with an answer.
"Then ya don't spill a single woid, ya hear me? I'se don't care if da bastards is holdin' a knife tah ya throat! Youse even think of betrayin' me and I'll make whatever punishment they threatened youse wid ten time woise heah in Brooklyn!"
Once again, Oriole's eyes made attempts at registering the statement; in the end, his inquisitiveness won out. "Ya mean you'd kill us?"
"It's very likely," I answered him, with a cool urbanity that rendered them all speechless. I turned my back to them and gazed at the city below me, the crowds looking like miniature figurines in a girl's dollhouse. At least they were acting sensible now. I couldn't stand people who made jokes of grave issues, dismissing them as if they were nothing at all. "Tomorrow we'se startin' da day at 5 in da mornin'. Sharp." I smirked when the sweet music of their resentful groans reached my ears.
The sun was just beginning to rise for another vigil as I led my Birds to Manhattan where we would jog down the trails of Central Park. There was good terrain there, and various elevations that would work the boys hard, fortifying their stamina. Sparrow impressed me the most during the sprint. Watching him was like watching a circus freak at Coney Island being shot from a cannon, the kid soared that fast! It was while wondering upon what he could have possibly consumed for breakfast when a distressful yell wrenched me from my thoughts.
I spun around to see Robin sprawled out on the cold cement, his hands tightly clutching his left ankle. His face was flushed and I could tell he was fighting back tears of obvious pain. With a sigh, I hurried back to him and crouched down at his side to see about the problem, but he insisted that he would be fine.
"I'm just e' bit clumsy," he told me in the rough Irish brogue I could hardly understand. "Ye dun have te' worry 'bout me. I'll catch up wid ye." He tried to struggle to his feet but only managed in collapsing onto himself a second time. My brilliant schedule now completely reduced to ruins, I cancelled the morning jog and announced that training would be postponed until a later time.
While Robin's foot was still healing, he'd sit on the sidelines for the weeks of teaching that ensued. Back at the rooftop where we had begun, I next taught my eight spies the fine art of self-defense. Jay was definitely the best fighter. He moved with a grace I truly admired and had the strength to hold his own against numerous attackers should he one day become cornered in enemy territory. Then there were some boys who just put Brooklyn to shame.
Oriole was up against Jay one round and could have relieved himself in his pants as terrified as he was. Every time Jay would step forward to enact a move I had demonstrated, he would scurry back a yard or so and widen his eyes like a startled animal. This juvenile game of 'chase' carried on for a few minutes until I grew irritated and put an end to it. "Oriole," I said, "what da hell d'ya think youse is doin'? Ya can't fight someone standin' six feet away from them!"
Oriole looked up at me with those chocolate irises that would have made any other sensitive fool crack and replied, "But I aint a fighter, Spot. I'se don't like tah hoit people. It aint a nice thing tah do."
Could there be another Brooky schmaltzier than that? The kid sounded like a sappy, over-romantic poet trying to sing his way out of war! I would have dealt him a dose of reality right then, but at that moment, Cardinal decided to finally grace us with his presence. "Cards, youse is late."
"Yea I know," was his reply. "I guess I'se just lost track 'a time."
"Well, that's the thoid time dis happened! Normally, I'se would beat the crap outta ya and see whether youse can keep time then, but since I'se not feelin' like shit today, Jay'll just do it for me." I often did that, set the Birds against each other as such. I'm not quite sure why, but it had something to do with believing that warriors are born only in the midst of conflict. Before I could see the boys reach their potential, I would have to give them mountains to overcome.
Many nights during this period, I would set off for the streets of Brooklyn by myself and sort matters out in my head. Long walks tended to ease my nerves, for one doesn't have to deal with the pestering of company, and best of all, it was an escape from my leadership duties. It was like a breath of fresh air...absorbing the fragrance of a newly sprung rose. It was relief, and if I didn't take advantage of the liberation it offered me, the rage I had too long been bottling up would explode in a wrath.
I didn't know how much longer I could deal with my eight spies. Some days I felt like ripping my hair out in large chunks; other times I wanted to scream obscenities to the highest obtainable pitch. They acted so difficult! Hawk and Raven, the eldest, vowed to talk my ears off with their whining about how I chose to orchestrate my lessons. 'Maybe you should teach the kids to shut their traps'. That was a common one. 'Are you going to let your cousin get away with that?' 'Oriole should be wearing diapers the way you baby him!' 'Why the hell do we need to know how to pickpocket?'
You're probably wondering why I considered that last one a necessity too. No, it wasn't to encourage thieving or acceptance of loose morals, but rather to add a skill to the repertoire they would later draw from when assigned a borough. If any one of them were given a mission to acquire information about a particular leader, I could only hope to God they knew how to go about obtaining it in a secretive manner. And what if this leader was a clever one and stashed his written details in a safe, or in his very pocket! You see, I'm only equipping the boys for what inevitably could happen on the job.
But they couldn't see that! They couldn't see that our morning jogs were meant to help them become faster. They never caught on with the fact that being experienced in combating would make all the difference when a band of jerks realized their true identity and wanted to endorse justice with their bare hands. Cardinal would never see the importance of punctuality, Oriole would never learn to seal his lips, Runner would never abandon his carefree ways, Robin would never part with his clumsiness, and Hawk and Raven would never cease to nag even when they were told that no one cared about their opinion!
That leaves Jay and Sparrow. I don't even have to think twice to tell you they were my best spies since the start. Jay's piercing blue eyes soaked up everything they saw, and Sparrow had this devious style of sneaking around that could fool anyone. The others paled in comparison to this dynamic duo, and no greater instance can exemplify what I mean than the following.
I was leaning my back against the brick face of a Seamstress shop and pretended to skim through the articles of the paper I held in my hands while Runner and Jay stood at either side of me like watchdogs. Little did they know, I was about to put them to the test. After a reasonable number of people had passed by us, I folded the paper, stuffed it in a back pocket, and turned to Jay.
"Jay, did ya notice dat man in da derby hat? Tell me exactly what he looked like."
Without a moment's hesitation, the facts spewed from his mouth in seconds. "Da derby hat was grey and 'e was wearin' a three piece suit wid a handkerchief in da chest pocket that had da initials 'T.W.' on it. The briefcase 'e was carryin' wasn't snapped shut and 'is shoes was made of leather. Eyes were brown, hair was black, and 'e had a split 'tween 'is front teeth."
If I wasn't his leader, I would have loved to express how shocked I was by his detailed memory. I hadn't expected any of the boys to regurgitate information as well as he had! I nodded my head in approval and then faced my cousin. "Runnah, da Italian dat came outta Riley's Pub a few minutes ago, tell me what ya can 'bout him."
"Uh..." Runner combed his fingers through his blonde hair and cocked his head to one side. "Well, he was wearin' some clothes...and, uh, he had some hair and all." His lips curved into a playful smirk. "And I'se give da guy credit, did ya see da goil 'e had on his arm! Damn! I'se could tell ya anything ya wanted tah know 'bout her!"
I glared at him, controlling my want to destroy him. Of course, just as the day was starting to shine with Jay's sharp report, Runner had to summon the rain clouds forth. What really boiled my blood, though, was how he thought it all funny! He was laughing then, but later when I humiliated him in front of all the Brooklyn newsies by giving him a good soaking, all smugness was gone.
And I mustn't forget the incident at Central Park. I wanted to assess any improvements Robin or Oriole might have made in the span of their training and so I took them to Manhattan where we observed a middle-aged couple sitting on a bench, chatting away the late hours of the afternoon. I instructed the boys that I wanted a word-for-word summary of the conversation being held and then sent them out one by one to achieve the task.
Robin first crossed the street that separated us from the couple and then strolled down the sidewalk, whistling a tune with his hands in his pockets. Yet to even begin the assignment and he had already disappointed me. Does it ever cross a suspect's mind before a mystery is unraveled that whistling in distraction might perhaps make them appear that much guiltier? It frustrates me to no end!
Anyways, Robin tried the facade of an innocent passerby but his cover was blown when the kid tripped over the feet of the couple he was suppose to be spying on! He toppled to the ground and once righted, smiled bashfully at them, only receiving a perturbed look on their part in return. I sent Oriole in next once Robin had retreated. He trotted off in that cheerful air of his, and walked directly up to the couple where he sat on the bench beside the woman and then stared at the two naively.
"Don't mind me," he later claimed to have said. "Just go on and act like I'se aint heah." As would any sane person, the man and woman immediately arose and left.
I knew putting the boys out now would only ensure their failure, but surely I couldn't leave Brooklyn unprotected. Talk was starting of how some riffraff had masqueraded as a Manhattan newsie for months before he was discovered as part of Midtown's brood. I wouldn't let the same thing happen to Brooklyn. Ever.
So the next week, I assigned boroughs to each of my eight Birds, some receiving more than one area to supervise if the newsboys there were few or didn't reside in a lodging house. Jay was awarded the Bowery for perfecting his keen senses and I gave Harlem, Brooklyn's greatest rival, to young Sparrow. Though lacking in years, he was superior at his work.
We decided that 'The Nest' would be our bi-weekly meeting spot, its location constantly changing to prevent familiarity and throw off stalkers. And with one last speech filled with advice and warnings, I sent them off for their first scout. Back then, I didn't see the mistake I was creating, but it would soon make itself evident as the hours progressed.
The boys were supposed to report back to me that night at nine o' clock. Jay and Sparrow were early; I decided to give the others until Cardinal's arrival to show up, for I already knew his inability to keep time would make him considerably late.
At 9:45, he still hadn't walked into the lodging house; neither had Hawk. I knew something was wrong and it didn't hit me until I remembered that Upstate New York-where both Cardinal and Hawk had been assigned-had recently issued a curfew that ordered all minors to be in their homes by eight. I slammed my fist into the wall for having not sooner realized this. It reflected my judgment poorly and was the type of blunder that could haunt one for the rest of his days.
"Fellas," I addressed the six Birds that remained, "we'se gunna have tah bust our boiys out da slammer tonight." Raven made a bitter remark about how Cardinal's disregard for promptness had probably birthed the problem, but after receiving a nice shiner from yours truly, he shut his damn mouth quick.
The operation would be a tricky one and the risk of being arrested ourselves for breaking curfew in that area only added to the jeopardy. But if I could somehow use my boys' limitations to our advantage...
Runner couldn't take anything seriously, but Raven could and often went beyond the required mark. Pairing these two together would unquestionably result in a brawl, and very much needing a diversion, I shoved them to a street corner and told them to wait for my return. I wasn't a block away before I could hear them already disputing with one another, which in turn attracted a quartet of officers away from their beat to see about the problem.
The streets in front the police station momentarily cleared, I posted Jay in a nearby alley and instructed him to sound the alarm should those officers decide to return before we were willing to leave. Then, with Robin, Sparrow, and Oriole in toll, we entered the building before us from the back, where I knew the offices would be vacant while a guard shift was taking place.
In the lobby, about twenty men in navy blue uniforms that sported star-shaped badges lounged about snacking on pastries and drinking black coffee. Before I could head to the secure unit where youth were kept before being sent to the House of Refuge, these officers would have to be taken care of. "Oriole," I whispered to the boy beside me, "remember that one day youse was goin' on 'bout all the jokes you'd learn in school? And I told ya it weren't da time tah be ramblin' on like youse was? Well, dis is a poifect time!"
I pointed at the officers and he, thinking it was all in good jest, nodded his head and strutted forward to join the crew. I peered through the crack in the door as he harmlessly walked up to the nearest man and told him the story of how his aunt had almost been buried alive one time. The officers were taken aback by Oriole's presence and first questioned him like interrogators, but when he had no answers to provide them with, the majority humored him by listening to his bizarre tales while the others filed a 'missing child' report.
Now that they were busy thanks to Oriole's unending gibberish, I took Robin and Sparrow to the area where my Brooky's were being kept. The room was small with a stuffy air that made me crinkle my nose. Only one of its six cells were occupied, that one housing Cardinal and Hawk. At the end of the hall sat two guards playing poker while a third sat on a chair perusing through a nudity magazine. Every now and again, he would come across a page that apparently caught his eye and would fold out the poster to show his buddies who whistled and catcalled in return.
I focused back on Cardinal and Hawk. Naturally, they were given the cell farthest away from the exit, thus increasing the difficulty level of this great escape by another degree, and for the life of me, I couldn't devise another fitting diversion. At least not until I remembered Robin was still in my company. In a low hiss, I told him to go to the janitor's closet across the way and retrieve as many empty buckets as he cold find, and to do all this silently. Of course, to Robin's subconscious, that last order is like deliberately telling him to wake up the whole block if at all possible.
Three minutes later, the clamoring of metal objects banging across the floor sounded and the officers who had been playing poker immediately jumped to their feet and charged out into the main corridor as Sparrow and I took refuge behind a trash can. Robin poked his head out the closet, yelped at the sight of the two men, and took off in an effort to outrun them. The officers followed close behind, but this proved folly, for when Robin fell over himself while rounding a corner, they tripped over his body and were knocked out unconscious by the impact of the tiled floor.
Robin crawled to his feet unharmed, and then climbed out a window onto the fire escape to join up with Jay when I gave him the signal to leave. Sparrow and I returned back to the doorway of the jail and before I could say anything, he sped across the aisle, skidded to a stop halfway down, and waved at the officer with the magazine.
"Heya, copper!" he called out. "I bet ya can't catch me!" I took cover behind a fake plant while Sparrow zoomed off, the officer pursuing him. As soon as they were out of sight, I jumped to a stand and ran into the jail, waving to Cardinal and Hawk as I passed them by. I hurried to the officers' desk, snatched a skeleton key tied to a black cord from the nail upon which it hung, and with shaking hands, unlocked the cell door to set my boys free.
I would always wear that key around my neck afterwards as a reminder of what could be achieved when a group of individuals look past their differences and work together for the better good. I don't know all that happened that fateful night, but somehow we all managed to regroup and flee from the clutches of our foe. Runner, Raven, and Sparrow had managed to outrun their men while Cardinal, Hawk, and I merely escaped the same way I had originally entered the station. Jay and Robin awaited our small company in an adjacent alley, and little Oriole feigned tiredness so that when the officers he had earlier been entertaining left him to peace, he awoke from his would-be sleep and simply walked out the front door.
After this episode, my Birds at last started to take to their work sincerely. They even insisted on an intense one-week training session in which they desired to re-learn the basics and master each skill I had tried to been teaching them all along. In no time, they were completely different young men-their new character the absolute opposite of what they had once been. Brooklyn became renowned for the accuracy of its crafty spies, and the boys themselves became people I could trust my very life to.
Some might define patience as calm endurance during a trying time, or tolerance through which understanding is obtained. I don't dismiss either of these statements as faulty, but to me, patience means so much more. It's holding on even when you're ready to let disappointment get the better of you. It's holding your tongue to repress the criticism and debasing words that would otherwise come out. It's shunning the disbelief of others because you know what you're working for and you won't give up when your goal is almost nigh. My favorite of all, it's kindling the hope that lives within you-sometimes as a meager flame, other times as a raging wildfire- despite negativity, shortcomings, or impending doom because you can already see your prize ahead of you and the finish line is just out of reach.
"Me boids is been choipin' in me ear." I say that phrase more than I ever thought I would. Everyone knows how proud I am of them. Only a few know of the trials I've conquered alongside them. In the end, when I look back on it all, I say without regret that it's all been worth it. I made eight of my best friends, gave Brooklyn the root of its strength, came out a better leader, and learned patience in a whole new context. A lesson I will remember for all time.
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